Chapter Text
Oota Kasuga was sitting on the toilet. Bedazzled booty shorts were around his ankles, and he was in a slutty little crop top, in the name of a ‘pick me up’, because he had been feeling genuinely fucking awful for the past few days. His granny panties were pooled at his feet, and his sequined socks were winking up at him in the glaring fluorescent light over the sink.
And, between his hands, was a white stick with two utterly darling lines.
Pregnant.
Not pregnant.
In the trash next to the toilet were five other discarded sticks, and they were also boldly shining with two lines.
Congratulations, you slut.
You’re pregnant.
“... Did I white girl wasted too close to the sun?” Oota whispered, a sense of genuine distress seizing him, because he didn’t even fucking know who the hell the father was, and even if he did, the options were equally bad.
His brain, for the millionth time in the past hour, circled back around to Oota, circa twelve weeks ago, bouncing through seven separate gay clubs in one Friday night to celebrate the official recovered-enough-from-top-surgery-to-consume-inadvisable-amounts-of-alcohol. He was in a slutty little fishnet top, complete with pierced nipples, and even sluttier little hot pants. A cute little thick leather collar, ridiculous amounts of rings, smeared eyeliner and glitter, boots with a heel, he was just... He was on some hot girl shit, okay?? Was that a crime??
His second club of the night...
Okay, look.
Satoru Gojo, that fictional man that was the only redeeming attribute to the fictional universe Oota had been flung into, bitching and moaning, entirely against his will, because he wanted to be a slut, he didn’t want to see curses and have to fight those things—
Anyways.
Satoru Gojo was in the bar. Because of course he was. And Oota was already drunk, and he was hot and unfathomably sexy and Oota knew the dude was going to fucking die anyway, so what was the harm? He was right there, serving himself on a silver platter, so what if Oota thought testosterone was sufficient? So what if Oota let him cum in him in a shitty dimly lit bathroom with stalls painted black to cover the cum stains? So what??
Look.
Oota needed to confirm his dick really was that big. (It was.) (He fucked like a goddamn animal.) (Devil dick was 100% worth it, at the time.)
Anyways, Satoru Gojo might have fucked him like he was a public receptacle, but that was not going to stop him from being back on his hot girl shit. Look. Look. His dick was fantastic! But his ego would be a bit too big if he thought that was going to keep Oota from continuing his cruising, sampling the other dicks out there. He understood, god complex, whatever, but who the fuck did that man think he was, thinking one dick was going to make Oota turn in for the night? God himself could not stop Oota from dipping on the bar-top, okay. Fuck.
Anyways, Satoru Gojo was at the second bar, when Oota wasn’t too sloppy drunk. He was really going to stop cruising after that, okay. There was no reason to continue after getting the main character that wasn’t even the main character dick. Like, okay, babes, we peaked there.
Then, fifth bar, when he still wasn’t wasted enough it would just be assault, and funny enough someone would go yeah, okay. But, crucially, he was too drunk to consider how ominous it was that he was meeting Satoru Gojo, the only redeeming thing in this godforsaken (in a sex way) universe, and then Suguru Geto, the strong secondary argument, in the same night.
Of course he had to weigh the arguments.
Really hear them out.
Which led to him once again engaging in a little bit of public play, but fuck, it was a gay bar at 4am. That time he just took charge himself, shoved him to sit down on the toilet and just climbed right on up there, and yeah.
It was great.
Suguru left his number. He promptly tossed it, because he was not about to get recruited to some ecofascist cult with some fat dick, okay.
Anyways, he went through the rounds for two more bars, and then he went home.
It was fine. He had fun. That was all it was meant to be.
So, why was he staring at all of these goddamn positive pregnancy tests?
His brain was swimming, trying to figure out how he was meant to respond to this. It was whirring, clicking, clacking, and then he abruptly wiped, flushed, and threw the test into the trash.
“I am too young, hot, and sexy to have a man stressing me out,” he declared to no one but himself.
He didn’t care how rich Satoru Gojo was.
He wasn’t fucking doing that.
“Alright, baby,” he said and patted his belly. “Daddy’s gonna work this out. Just you wait.”
And, then, he promptly washed his hands, made his way out of the bathroom, plopped down at his desk, and opened up his browser.
Picker wheel countries of the world.
He pulled up the first option, and decisively clicked spin. It spun round and round and round, and then—
Kyrgyzstan.
He stared at it briefly.
“I don’t know where the fuck that is,” he said, and closed it out, and then selected just the Asian continent, and decisively clicked spin again.
It went round and round and round, before it clicked to a halt.
Singapore.
“Okay, we can work with that, very modern, very chic,” he declared, and promptly unlocked his phone and swiped through until he found the contact he wanted. It rang once, twice, and then a pleasant voice answered.
“Tokyo HIV/AIDS Clinic, Aya speaking, can I get your date of birth?”
“Oh, hiiiii, Aya, it’s Oota Kasuga again, date of birth October 27th, 1990, phone number xxx-xxx-xxxx, are there any open slots for today?”
“... Oota,” Aya said, her voice a bit reproachful. “No, there are no open slots for today for Dr—”
“So, I may have just had a teensy bit too much fun about twelve weeks ago, though really, it was not as crazy as the consequences, if ya know what I mean, aha, and uhm, so, there are six positive pregnancy tests in my bathroom bin as we speak, and I have been throwing up for several weeks now.”
“... Well, that would be gynecology,” Aya said slowly, and Oota narrowed his eyes at her carefully modulated tone. Why was he detecting a hint of ‘so far from surprised’ in her voice? Hm. Must be imagining it. “And, luckily for you, we always leave a tiny bit of space for emergencies, and there was also a cancellation today. So, let’s see you at 3:25pm, hm?”
“Lovely!” Oota said, and checked the time. 10am, he had time to have a bit of a mental breakdown, some lunch, and then he could pop right over. “Thank you, Aya, darling, I hope your husband never disappoints you.”
“... Thank you for your blessings, Oota.”
“You’re welcome,” he said warmly, and promptly hung up the phone.
Five hours later, Oota was laid out on the exam table, an ultrasound wand pressed to his stomach, smearing through the cold gel as the doctor took one photo after another, and Tomiko, who had done his first PAP smear in this lifetime six months ago and he had hoped to not see her for quite some time after that, took a deep breath in, and then let it out.
“Well, you are 12 weeks along,” she said, and the ultrasound wand pressed down a little more. “And it looks like twins. Surprised it took you so long to notice.”
Oota froze, staring blankly at the wall.
Twins...
Twins...
Twins...
Only one thought could fully register in his brain.
There is no way I can’t get more unlucky than I already am, right?
“Hypothetically speaking,” he said weakly, “is it... possible. For a set of twins to also have two different... fathers?”
Tomiko paused, and then inhaled slowly, and let it out, and looked at him.
“I won’t ask for details,” she said evenly, and then smiled, just slightly. “But it is possible, if they are fraternal. Statistically unlikely, even if you drive up the odds yourself, but still. Possible.”
“Ohhh...” Oota said, and breathed out. “Okay, well, this was great. When will it be safe for me to fly?”
“... Fly?”
“Yes. I will be fleeing the country about it,” he said seriously, and Tomiko stared at him, brows furrowed.
“I should mention, nothing you say leaves this room unless you want it to,” she said carefully, “but are you... safe, Oota?”
“Oh, yes,” Oota said, and blinked big eyes. “It’s just I do not want to deal with either of these melodramatic manchildren, so I would like to flee the country. We’re going to Singapore!”
“... Singapore. Do you have... family?”
“No. I used a picker wheel,” Oota said, very seriously, and Tomiko clicked her tongue.
“While I do not believe in forcing a birthing parent into reconnecting with the other parent... or parents... Uhm, Oota. Let’s table running away to Singapore for... right now. Because you are, in fact, trans, which is why you are getting your first prenatal ultrasound at an AIDS clinic, and it is 2010, and there are not many clinics in the world right now that can properly support a trans pregnancy. And you need a very dedicated care team. At this point in time. That you’re familiar with. And Japan, though not without faults, is one of the better countries to be pregnant in in general.”
Oota paused, squinting at her, opened his mouth, and shut it.
“Right. Then, I suppose we can table Singapore for now,” he agreed, and made a mental note to update the picker wheel to ‘trans friendly Asian countries’.
Well.
Trans friendly was a stretch.
Gah, why did he have to waste precious brain power on this nonsense? Why couldn’t he be a sexy, sexy single father and globe trotter?
Awful. He had to care about safety. At least he was a polyglot. He should probably look into countries he was already fluent in the language of...
Ugh.
Why did things have to be so complicated?
Horrendous. He needed to file a complaint.
“All of that being said, as it is twelve weeks, we need to get caught up on bloodwork,” she said cheerfully, and pulled the wand off, setting it aside so she could clean up his stomach. “The babies are developing well; I don’t see any abnormalities. Both seem to be at a healthy size, no one’s stealing any nutrients, and they are safely in their own sacs, so we won’t have to be as careful as we would if they were sharing the same sac. In the meantime, we need to do a few maternal blood draws to screen for any issues. I’ll print out some photos of them for you.”
“Oh, alright,” he said, and wondered just how long he was going to have to stay gone from Japan. At least until after all the carnage was done, right? Eight, nine years? He had no interest in being roped into cleaning up after everyone’s mess. No, thank you.
Ah, well.
He could make money anywhere, so it wasn’t too much of a concern.
He may not be working actively in Japan, on account of ‘fuck those guys’, guys here being ‘HQ’, but any government would be rushing to take him in and pay him good money to clean their houses.
Yep!
He could totally manage this!
He was going to do a great job. He was going to raise his two little divas, and they were all going to have a fantastic time. Let the baby daddies go get themselves killed, and then he would be blissfully free and untethered in this world, because honestly, who wanted to deal with all of that?
Not him, thank you kindly!
His kids would be better off from that soap opera. Just meeting each of them in separate gay bars was proof enough that he needed to hightail it outta here. The fact they were actually gay— Horrendous. He was homophobic now. How dare they—him—whoever the fuck did it, knock him up?? His kids now. No one got any kids but him. All his. Ugh.